


private eyes

by atramento



Series: three little pigs [5]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Bad Weather, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunkenness, Fluff, Heart-to-Heart, M/M, Rain, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atramento/pseuds/atramento
Summary: Treavor wants to brave a vicious storm and Martin wants to know why Treavor is being such an idiot this night.
Relationships: Teague Martin/Treavor Pendleton
Series: three little pigs [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605268
Comments: 19
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

The storm buffeting the Hounds Pits pub was a sudden one; a truculent and constant tapping of rain against the aged wood. It was hard to see out past the fogged glass and even the lights none too far out seemed dim against the clots of rain and cloud formation. 

Normally by this hour Martin was stationed elsewhere; in the Abbey reading, out upon patrol, or nestled within his inn room close to the Pub. He did not fancy sleeping here too often. Many people who he could not factor with proper consideration lurked here. 

Not to mention the Pub itself felt hollowed out and defenseless. 

Ah, it was not too unwell. No rain had broken the roof, no debris came crashing in; so Martin simply would have to settle down for tonight. At the very least, nobody at the Abbey was requiring his presence-- not even that damned Campbell. 

He chose a spot in the main area to settle. Sure this was where the bar counter showed its worn and ugly face and sure it was also where all the tables and chairs were cramped... but at least there was quiet during these intense, fleeting hours of the approaching night. 

Martin had settled into one of the seats that extended out solid and had a faded cushion stuffed into it. He was carelessly positioned, neck and shoulders pressed tightly against the wall and window. 

It was not comfortable in the slightest, but still better than--

A clatter disturbed Martin’s feigned attempt at rest. With minor yet still noted irritation he got up and paced over still fully dressed in his overseer’s garb to where the noise originated. 

It was Treavor, shuffling the pots and pans of the bar about. No doubt filtering for his next alcoholic fix Martin figured with a sigh. He decided to bite anyhow. “Is it not a bit late for some sherry, Treavor?” Martin’s voice was soft per usual and Treavor still jumped as if he were caught beating someone to death. 

“N-not looking for... for sherry.” Treavor croaked. He started to point a finger in some direction and instantly retreated it with a sharp yelp when a snap of lightning and thunder struck nearby. For a sickly man with a drinking problem, Martin figured Treavor had a nice pair of lungs that still functioned. 

The wispy man took a moment or five to recoup from the frightfully awful sound of nature’s wrath and exhaled. “I’m looking for-- for a light.” 

Brow raised, interest piqued. “A light? I’ve seen you smoke maybe once Treavor--” 

“No!” Treavor shakes his head as if Martin is a complete dunce. Maybe he is. The Pub was not his usual haunt anyhow. He hardly had to answer to the likes of Pendleton on a normal basis anyhow. “A light... t-to go outside... with.” Martin blinks. 

That... made hardly any sense. Why would Treavor want to go out into the downpour? A man of his constitution might crumple under such circumstance. No, he had to stop Treavor. He was obligated-- or felt so anyhow-- as one of Treavor’s co-conspirators. 

“I’m not sure that’s an ideal... thought. In your state of mind.” Martin adds, to Treavor’s dazed scowling. “You’re fuzzy, and not to mention you’re hardly the sort of man I’d see out in the pouring...” Martin is taken aback when Treavor shakes his balled up fist at him. 

“I have to! It’s personal, Martin.” Treavor sounded so convinced to slog out into the rain to his own death that Martin almost wanted to let him to and see him try. 


	2. Chapter 2

But no, for propriety’s sake he had to stop the fool before he went, fell ill, and perished. Or worse. There was always something worse.

Anything could happen in those violent storms. Cutpurses, strikes of lightning, slipping and falling on pavement. Far too many ways for the Loyalists to lose their voting bloc. Of course, Martin told himself, Treavor as a person was important too. Even if the man was something of a little weasel. Or ferret. 

Martin would have to giggle at the image of a ferret-like Treavor later. The nobleman had returned to shifting items around looking for that damned light source. 

“Treavor, if I may--”

“You may not.” Treavor offered unhelpfully. Seems the alcohol was still giving him an accessory edge of arrogance. Luckily for him Martin found himself to be far more patient than a good selection of Treavor's other acquaintances. 

Hmmm, how to word his feelings without bruising this man’s already debilitated ego? Martin clicked his tongue. “Treavor. Whatever it is you are seeking out there-- it can wait. I promise you.” 

The look that crossed Treavor's face would nary look out of place upon Havelock. "I have to." He insisted, lurching his head and body up to look in a cabinet with a basket atop it. "If I don't it will be most misfortunus." 

Misfortunate? Now he was mildly irritated. What was so very important that Treavor felt the need to keep him awake and to go tromping out into the storm? Even if the Abbey did not preach it, Martin felt a deeply offended sense of moral duty here. Treavor was a sensible man by any other account; as it happened though he was also normally still somewhat reasonable despite the drinks he would have consumed prior. 

Something was becoming quite pervasive amid Martin's quest to eke the truth out of Pendleton; whatever this item was it was overwhelming Treavor's far more common senses of anxiety and cowardice. And one way or another that puzzled and upset Martin. 

Not deeply at the moment but enough for him to truly question what might be happening at this moment. 

Finally he hacked his throat. "Treavor..." He immediately received a dull glare as his reward. "What exactly lies out there that you have to lay claim to?" 

"Nothing to 'lay claim' to as you succinctly put it." Treavor's voice is slightly slurred but there is no denying he still has quite the persuading voice. "I go for a far more confidential reason." There is a pause and Martin is almost sure he either wanted to swat Pendleton aside the head or to prompt him to explain more. He had to do neither though, as Treavor sighed. "I sent Wallace out before the storm erupted and I...." 

It was all Treavor really had to say in the first place was it not? 


	3. Chapter 3

Martin's brow quirked once more. "You sent Wallace out into a storm?" 

"No!" Treavor shook with frustration which meant his whole body was vibrating. " _Before_ the storm arrived; weren't you listening?!" He was, Treavor was simply prone to a decent amount of speech slurring four or more glasses into his alcohol. Since, as only Martin had seemed to not forgotten-- Treavor was fairly drunk still. 

"I... I wanted him to fetch me something from the Manor... but now..." the man looked at the door of the Pub, which creaked lightly when the wind picked up. At the least Wallace had shut it tightly enough it would not come flying open amid this terrible weather. "Now I simply hope he is unharmed." 

"So I must venture out and--" Treavor pauses as Martin's hand reaches for his shoulder. It is not a gesture that usually bodes well for Treavor Pendleton-- and he makes that clear in no uncertain terms when he scowls at Martin and his attempt at gentler concern. 

Attempt because Martin was unsure Treavor was currently capable of registering his concerns at all. He had not listened thus far. “Treavor, please. You’re hardly sobered and going out there is nearly a dying man’s wish. I’m sure that Wallace-- wherever he might be out there-- has found shelter waiting for this to pass through.” 

With surprising strength Treavor pushed Martin's hand away and sauntered to the door. "Fine." He replied. "Then let me die trying." Martin feels his body-- and fist in particular-- tense as Treavor carelessly opens and pushes the Pub door aside, welcoming the convulsions of rainfall into their sanctuary. 

“Treavor--” Martin makes one last clenched-through-teeth attempt at reasoning with the nobleman. “Don’t go out there. It’s not worth it!” 

He looked at Treavor, who was already being pelted with droplets that soak the front of his olive suit a darker verdant shade. Treavor wobbled then walked out into the rain willfully. How could one nobleman be so stubborn, so.... so moronic?!

Martin growled and bolted out after despite his own reservation, yanking Treavor's sleeve. "Get back in here you dullard!” Treavor slapped him with the other hand and broke free. Now it was real, Martin figured as his anger got the better of him. Get back here you little purebred bitch.

Once again Martin felt himself surprised by how Treavor managed to navigate the slippery, puddled ground while inebriated. Perhaps he was used to stumbling around drunk. Seemed to be his normal state most days anyhow. With a vicious growl Martin started a running tackle only for one of his feet to slide. 

“Shit!” He slid, banging a knee on the ground. Treavor does not look back, or if he did Martin could not see him. Likely for the best considering how upset the man was currently. “Pendleton, get back here!” Martin got back up, restarting his run with a pinch more of caution. It was not fast enough to body tackle Pendleton, but he got his arms around the other with force. 


End file.
